


You Live and Learn

by Ickleroonilwazlib



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ickleroonilwazlib/pseuds/Ickleroonilwazlib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having a warrior girlfriend means having to clean and soothe her wounds. In more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Live and Learn

“Do I even want to know how that seemed like a good idea?”

Lincoln takes the clean bandages next to her, rolls them up and pours a clear liquid on it, soaking it thoroughly before pressing it against her inner thigh to stop the stream of blood flowing out. Octavia lets out a string of curses, enough to have even the dirtiest warrior blushing.

"How was I supposed to know the metal guard would break?” she responds through gritted teeth.

He motions for her to hold the bandages in position so he can heat the needle on the fire, scoffing as he makes his way back.

“Because you were fighting with spears, not swords.”

Octavia resists rolling her eyes.

“Bah, you live and learn.”

This time it’s Lincoln who rolls his eyes. Her nonchalance wasn’t deceiving him. It had been a sloppy move and she had paid dearly for it. She’s been distracted lately, not as enthusiastic about training as before, ever since she had bruised his jaw a few weeks ago in the middle of an argument. Indra had noticed, called it weakness, and had begun to train her harder yet. Lincoln knew better than to think it was punishment; Indra had lost many loved ones in her past and no doubt the helpless she had felt caused her to become the person she is today. He thinks that perhaps she’s making sure Octavia doesn’t go through the same.

She absolutely hates this part. The liquid cleans and numbs the injury but only slightly. She knows she’s going to feel every prick of the needle and at least Lincoln is nice enough to give her a sympathetic look before he starts.

“Why does Indra hate me so much?” she asks the ceiling, not daring to look down at his handiwork.

She’s clutching the sheets on their shared bed so tight her knuckles turn white and tension tears are falling from clenched eyes. He holds her leg down with his body, each prick making her entire body jerk involuntarily but she knows he’s fast with the needle and she doesn’t mind crying in front of him.

“Indra is known to be ruthless when teaching,” he responds a minute later, "but she has a lot of faith in you.“

There’s a a small hole in the ceiling, one she would certainly feel in the winter and she makes a mental note to let him know later.

"Do you?”

Her question leaves her lips before her brain catches up. There’s a noticeable pause in his body though his hands don’t stop their stitching as he mulls over her question.

“You are growing uncomfortable with the violence, _suiyuu_?”

Octavia starts biting her nail in thought even though she knows the answer. The sting of the needle is sharp; it feels like punishment. Octavia thinks she deserves it.

"Let’s just say I understand why you prefer to use words rather than your sword,” she responds, her hand flopping back down to her side, “I don’t want to feel confident only with a weapon in my hand.”

He’s done, thank the gods, and she sits up to watch him take the green paste Nyko gave him, slathering it on the wound.

“Your strength doesn’t come from the sword, Octavia. You and I both know that."

He starts the bandaging process, binding it tightly and it has Octavia cursing again. She studies his face in order to draw away her attention from the pulsing of her wound. His jaw catches her eye, the greenish-purplish tint an ugly blemish that makes her feel extremely regretful each time. She runs a finger across it, apologizing wordlessly again. He finishes by tying the cloth as gently as he can, taking her hand in his and kissing her wrist.

"I’ve been thinking about what Clarke said,” she cups both her hands around his face, her thumb mindlessly caressing his cheek, “about exploring the South lands. Being diplomats and all.”

His eyes don’t leave hers as he nods in understanding. He holds both hands in his, dipping his head to kiss the bandage softly before meeting her eyes again.

“I’ll follow where you go.”

And Octavia thinks that perhaps real strength is knowing how to keep moving on.


End file.
